


if there's something strange (in your neighborhood)

by green_tea31



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_tea31/pseuds/green_tea31
Summary: Mac is up at three in the morning, just getting a glass of water when a shadow in the living room nearly scares him into an early grave and he stubs his toe on the kitchen island.“Fuck!”“You got a potty mouth for being such a pretty boy, kid. Gotta say that surprised me at first.”“What the-“ Mac blinks, once, twice, but the guy is still there, looking at him with a crooked grin and like he can’t believe that Mac is failing this hard at being an adult. Mac’s brain reboots quickly and he looks around for something he can use as a weapon, because he’s a goddamn secret agent, and Desi would never let him live it down if he got killed by a burglar while in an apartment that isn’t actually his own.The one where Jack is a ghost, Mac is slowly losing his mind, and Matty is a mystery wrapped in an enigma.





	if there's something strange (in your neighborhood)

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago I posted some of this on tumblr. Happy Halloween to the macdalton fandom. Also, sorry for not tagging the people who wanted to be tagged, because I'm pretty sure that tumblr post got eaten. 
> 
> Still steadily working on my wips, but I recently started my country's equivalent of grad school and I'm currently living in a permanent state of exhaustion. I've been told it gets better after the first term, so fingers crossed I'll have more time to write again come next year. 
> 
> This is probably going to have a second chapter sometime in the (far) future, but first I really want to finish those wips.
> 
> As always self-betaed. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title from "Ghostbusters" by Ray Parker Jr. because I just couldn't not.

Mac manages to flood his living room with poisonous gas two weeks before Halloween. The conversation he and Matty have after the incident will forever be one of his less favourite memories.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I think you heard me, blondie. The clean-up crew finished their report. Your house is being quarantined for the next two weeks; you’re going to have to find a temporary apartment – or some poor soul who’ll offer up their couch.” Matty raises an eyebrow and Mac doesn’t even ask if she would consider putting him up. They’ve found a kind of equilibrium working with each other ever since she took over from Thornton, Mac thinks she might actually like him a bit these days, but living in the same house?

That way lies madness.

Matty sighs and looks at him almost pityingly. “Look, Mac. I may have an idea.” She gets up from her seat behind her desk, Mac doesn’t spend much time in Matty’s office and only ever for debriefings, and makes her way over to a filing cabinet.

“Here,” she says and hands him a file. “This is a list of apartments that belonged to operatives who have either died or are otherwise…unavailable. We mostly use them as safe houses now.” She hesitates for a moment before continuing, and there’s something in her voice that Mac can’t quite define.

“I think the second apartment would be ideal.” Mac opens the file and quickly reads through the description. It’s a one bedroom in one of the nicer neighbourhoods. A faded picture shows a nearly empty room with big windows and exposed brickwork. It looks…nice.

“You sure this is alright?” Mac asks. He doesn’t want her breaking any rules on his behalf if it might get her into trouble later. They haven’t worked together long, but despite her initial reluctance to back his more unusual field decisions, Mac appreciates her no-nonsense approach. As bosses go, they could have gotten far worse after Thornton left.

“If it gets you out of my hair and the Psych department off my back, I’ll make sure it is.”

He frowns. “What does the Psych department have to do with this?”

Matty grins sardonically. “Apparently you haven’t been getting enough sleep – again. Now get up and out of my office. I have reports to read and a senator to yell at. The keys to the apartment are in the back of the file. You can take it with you.”

“Thanks Matty,” Mac says, leaving the office feeling vaguely relieved. He really wasn’t looking forward to two weeks of couch surfing.

…

“Hey Mac, wait up.” Mac slows his steps, waiting for Riley to catch up to him.

“You finished with Matty already?” Riley asks a little breathlessly. Mac smiles and nods.

“Yeah, we went over most of it pretty quickly.” He hesitates for a moment before admitting, “though my house is still under quarantine, so no beers by the fire for the next two weeks.”

They come to a halt in front of the elevator and Riley turns to him. “You need a place to crash? Mi sofa es su sofa if you want?”

Mac shakes his head. “Thanks, but Matty offered me one of the Phoenix’s safe houses.”

“Huh.” Riley raises her eyebrows in a clear display of surprise. “So she does have a heart.” Mac throws her a look. Riley’s edges and deep-seated trust issues hadn’t meshed well with Matty’s brashness in the beginning, and Mac, still on shaky footing with their boss himself, had found himself negotiating between them more than once. Desi had helped, too, but it still wasn’t easy. Riley was warming up, slowly, but every so often Mac was reminded that things between the hacker and their boss still weren’t quite where they should be.

“I know, I know,” Riley says, throwing up her hands and grinning at him. The doors to the elevator open and Mac steps inside.

“Hey, maybe we can do beers at your new place next weekend.” Mac wants to tell her that it’s only _temporary_, but the doors have already closed, and he’s on his way down.

…

At first, Mac doesn’t notice anything unusual about his temporary apartment. As apartments go, it’s pretty nice, actually. Mac likes the airy feel of the space and the exposed brick wall, but he has every intention of returning to his house after it’s been made liveable again.

Needless to say, he’s learned his lesson regarding that particular chemical.

The thing is, and never let it be said that Mac is not a rational human being who believes in science and the world he can _see_, but…

Sometimes, when it’s late and dark, and Mac is tired enough, he doesn’t always look where he’s going, he could _swear_ that there’s someone else in the apartment with him.

Sleep is elusive during the first week he spends in the apartment. He wakes up roughly twice a night with his thoughts restlessly spinning in his head. He doesn’t even have nightmares. Normally, his sleepless nights are accompanied by an endless reel of the worst parts of Afghanistan and past missions, but this time, he doesn’t even remember what he dreamed about when waking up.

It’s one of the worse nights, four days after moving in, when he first meets his ghost.

Mac is up at three in the morning, just getting a glass of water when a shadow in the living room nearly scares him into an early grave and he stubs his toe on the kitchen island.

“Fuck!”

“You got a potty mouth for being such a pretty boy, kid. Gotta say that surprised me at first.”

“What the-“ Mac blinks, once, twice, but the guy is still there, looking at him with a crooked grin and like he can’t believe that Mac is failing this hard at being an adult. Mac’s brain reboots quickly and he looks around for something he can use as a weapon, because he’s a goddamn secret agent, and Desi would never let him live it down if he got killed by a burglar while in an apartment that isn’t actually his own.

He grabs a frying pan and holds it up like a tennis racket, not his best improvisation, but Mac doubts the guy would be intimidated by a wooden spoon or a cheese grater.

“Whoa, calm down, hoss. That’s not gonna be much help here.” The guy holds up both hands in the universal gesture of surrender and takes a step forward. Mac briefly considers that he’s hallucinating or having a very vivid dream because he’s pretty sure he can see _through_ the guy to the room behind him.

He looks like – well, he looks like a ghost which isn’t possible because ghost _don’t exist_.

“Hey, now. Don’t go denying a guy’s existence before you bought him dinner. That’s just rude.”

And he obviously said that out loud. “I-“ Mac puts the pan down, pretty sure it won’t do anything. He reaches over to the light switch on the wall and turns on the overhead lamp in the kitchen.

“Hey wait-“

The guy is gone.

…

Mac hasn’t slept well. Scratch that, he hasn’t slept at all since his midnight encounter with the guy-who-couldn’t-have-been-a-ghost and it shows. Right now, he’s barely able to keep his eyes open, trying to focus on the experiment in front of him. Mac was actually looking forward to having a few quiet days to catch up on his Phoenix-bound projects, but now…

Now he can’t get last night out of his head.

Normally, he’d at least have Bozer or Riley to distract him, but Bozer is on a romantic holiday with Leanna, and Riley had hightailed it out of the building as soon as Matty mentioned possible downtime, because she actually _has_ a private life, and not whatever pathetic excuse of a facsimile Mac lived with ever since Nicky decided being a deep cover CIA agent was the thing to be.

He could call Desi, it’s been six months since she left to hunt down Kovacs, and things have calmed down enough, they’ve been able to keep in pretty regular contact, but Mac’s just managed to accept the fact that his best friend, the woman he’s known for the past eight years, isn’t constantly going to be at his back anymore. He can almost see her mocking smile, sitting in one of the lab chairs, magazine in hand and feet on the table, when he concentrates hard enough.

Mac misses Desi, and he’s going to call soon, but right now his thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

Ghosts don’t exist. He’s a scientist and believes in the scientific method. If the supernatural was real, there would have been evidence by now. Mac’s midnight encounter was nothing more than a hallucination, brought on by too much stress and too little sleep.

Ghosts don’t exist.

Right?

…

“I like the place,” Riley says, leaning back into Mac’s temporary couch. “Could use a few plants, but it has potential.”

Mac looks at her doubtfully. “I’m only going to be here for another week, Riles. You do remember that, right?” He hands her another beer and settles in next to her. It’s his first, and, if he has anything to say about it, only weekend in the apartment. Riley’s come over for pizza and a doubtlessly terrible movie, which has become a monthly ritual between the three of them with only Bozer currently missing. Desi, for all that she’s been Mac’s friend for the past eight years, never did well with this kind of socializing and only joined them every so often.

“Can I move in after you go back to your house?”

“You already have an apartment. Besides, I doubt Matty would go for it.”

Riley shrugs and gets up, walking over to the windows. There’s something hesitant in her voice when she speaks next.

“Did I ever tell you about the boyfriend my mom had when I was twelve?” She asks absently. Mac raises an eyebrow because Riley almost never volunteers personal information like this. She is, above almost everything else, an intensely private person, and it took Mac nearly a year before she revealed anything about her past to him.

Riley’s fingers trail over the window, leaving a milky trail on the glass.

“He was…a tiles salesman if you can believe it.” She turns around and leans back against the window, looking at him expectantly.

“Tiles salesman, huh?” Mac ponders that for a moment. “Somehow I can’t quite imagine Diane with someone so…”

“Boring?” Riley finishes for him and chuckles at his dry expression. “It was a nice change after Elwood.” Mac nods. As fathers go, they’ve both had kind of shit luck, but at least Mac never had to watch James beat his mother on a regular basis.

“What happened to him?” Mac asks because neither Diane nor Riley ever mentioned him, so…

Riley takes a deep breath and looks at her fingernails, nervously twisting one of the myriad of rings she’s always wearing.

“He left after getting into a fight with Elwood…no, that’s not…he _beat_ Elwood, Mac. Until then, I’d never actually seen him angry. Annoyed, yes, but angry…” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I guess this place just reminds me of him.”

“I a good way?” Mac asks. If the last memory she has of the guy is him beating up Ellwood it could honestly go either way.

Riley smiles at him. “Yeah, kind of. It feels…homey. And with Ellwood being back in my life recently…” Mac will likely never find out what she wanted to say next because right then the terrible Telly Savalas painting that came with the apartment for reasons Mac hasn’t yet found the courage to ask Matty about crashes to the ground with the ear-deafening sound of breaking glass.

“I _really_ didn’t expect that to happen,” Mac says not very helpfully. Riley stares at him in disbelief.

“That’s the only thing you could think of?” Mac shrugs and gets up, walking into the kitchen. He opens the storage cabinet under the sink and frowns because there should be a lot more cleaning supplies than the ones he finds.

“’s not like there’s a ghost in here, trying to interrupt our conversation,” Mac says, handing a bucket to Riley. “Probably just some screws that came loose.”

“Sounds boring. I’d prefer the ghost to be honest.” Riley grins. “Come on, let’s clean this up and then I can torment you with this month’s movie choice.” She turns to him and spreads her arms, bowing a little for her next words. “I brought “Plan 9 from Outer Space”.”

Mac groans but starts to pick up the bigger pieces of glass. “Why’d I let you pick the movie again?”

All thoughts of ghosts are forgotten.

…

Riley leaves well-fed and with a grin on her face long after the movie is over. It’s late – or early – depending on how you look at it, the moon illuminating the living room with its pale light. They’ve dimmed the overhead lights and put up candles around the room in honour of the fast approaching Halloween, and the dimly flickering flames only add to the eerie atmosphere. Mac shivers. He’s not prone to superstition, but the last few days have left him feeling decidedly unsettled.

“I’m so proud of that girl, you don’t even know, man,” someone says from the kitchen, and Mac nearly jumps into the air, heart beating frantically. He clenches his fist, takes a deep breath and turns around, _like ripping off a band-aid_.

It’s the guy from last week, grinning the same crooked grin. Mac stares at him for a full minute before the guy frowns and moves closer.

He doesn’t really walk, he _floats_ over, except, Mac _can_ see the guy’s legs moving, even though they appear to be as translucent as the rest of him.

“Huh, did I break you?” The guy asks, waving a hand in front of Mac’s face. “Hello – anyone home in that brain of yours?”

“I’m crazy,” Mac says disbelievingly. He takes a step back and rubs a hand over his face. “This is…I can’t…you’re not…”

“You’re a secret agent, running around the world, toppling dictators and hunting terrorists. Pretty sure crazy’s in the job description, hoss.”

Mac blinks, confused. “Wait – how do you even know that?” He asks, setting aside the fact that he’s maybe currently suffering a psychotic break for the moment.

Apparently ghosts do exist. Now he just has to find out whether it’s in his imagination, or if he needs to rethink his entire understanding of how the world works.

The ghost looks at him, eyes dark and strangely mesmerizing. Mac feels like those warm brown eyes can stare directly into his soul, like he’s nothing more than an insect under a microscope, all his secrets laid bare. 

“You know – I’m not actually sure. Seems like it fits you though.” He wanders past Mac, looking around the room like he’s trying to memorize it. The longer Mac looks at him, the more solid he seems, which is a strange thought to contemplate. Ten minutes ago he was still convinced that he’d hallucinated that first encounter and now Mac is pretty sure he’s losing that argument with himself.

He takes a deep breath. “Look – I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but…who the hell are you?”

The ghost turns around, surprise on his face. “What do you…right. New guy on the block and all. I’m Jack,” He says, grinning at Mac. “That’s pretty much all I know, so don’t go asking any more questions ‘cause I won’t be able to answer them.”

Mac tries to put that sentence into any kind of context that would make sense but fails miserably. Walking over to the couch, he sits down and puts his face in his hands.

He’s pretty sure life used to make sense before he moved into this apartment.

“Hey – you alright?” The ghost now named Jack asks. When Mac looks up, the expression in those dark eyes is still as mesmerizing as it was before.

He’s not going to develop a crush on the possibly dead guy in his living room, no matter how nice his eyes look when they crinkle with amusement.

“Yeah,” Mac begins before groaning and pushing his head back against the back of the couch a little too forcefully. “No – not really. I’m supposed to be a semi-competent secret agent who has his shit together, but I’m currently talking to a ghost who lives in the apartment I moved into until my house has been made liveable again. Also, I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t exist.”

“Huh.” Jack, and Mac might as well call him that, no matter how impossible his existence is, takes a seat next to him. Mac spends a few moments trying to figure out the logistics of a being who’s just passed through the coffee table with no apparent difficulties sitting down on any surface, or not simply falling through the floor come to think of it, but his brain refuses to cooperate.

“When you put it like that, I guess it’s a lot to take in, kid.” Jack puts a hand on his arm, gently squeezing. It’s a weird feeling, the pressure without any of the body warmth that would normally come with the contact. As it is, it does more to convince Mac of the reality of the situation than anything else. For the first time he can _feel_ the presence of his ghost while he’s right there in front of him. 

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Jack says. Mac wants to shake his head, but feels tired, now that he’s been reminded of how little sleep he’s been getting lately. The pressure on his arm intensifies until he’s tilting sideways and he lets Jack’s surprisingly gentle hands guide him until he’s lying down.

Mac yawns. “I shouldn’t,” he says to his ghost, but Jack just shakes his head and covers him with the blanket from the armrest. Fingers push into his hair, untangling the slightly too long strands from the wool. Mac leans into the touch. It’s a nice feeling.

Jack chuckles, a low, rough sound that sends shivers down his spine.

“You’re like a cat, aren’t ya?” Mac tries to ask what he means by that, but he’s too comfortable, feeling warm and safe in a way he hasn’t in a while. He falls asleep with Jack’s fingers still carding through his hair, and Jack’s warm eyes focused entirely on him.

There are no nightmares that night.

…

“I need to know who lived in the apartment before me,” Mac says while walking, more like stumbling really, he hasn’t really slept all that well for the past few days, into Matty’s office. His boss doesn’t say anything, but judging by the expression on her face, Matty is clearly starting to doubt his sanity.

And he hasn’t even told her why he’s asking yet.

“It’s a Phoenix safe house, Mac. That’s all you need to know.” She glances up at him from where she’s busy going through files. “Why are you asking anyway?”

Mac rubs a hand over his face and drops into one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs in front of her desk. It’s been three days since his last <strike>hallucination</strike> ghostly encounter and if he concentrates, he can still feel Jack’s gentle fingers in his hair, whiskey-brown eyes watching as he falls asleep.

He’s not sure if it’s the approaching holiday, or if he’s just in desperate need of a vacation, but Mac has almost convinced himself that his nightly visitor is real.

_Wants_ Jack to be real with a desperate yearning that he can’t explain to himself.

Matty puts down her pen and leans back in her chair. “You’re looking like death warmed over. There’s something you're not telling me.” She sighs and looks at her hands.

“I don’t know why you’re asking, but…alright.” Matty looks up at him again and the smile on her face is unbearably sad. “The apartment belonged to the operative who was originally supposed to be replacing Desi as your partner in the field.”

Mac blinks a few times because whatever he’s been expecting, it certainly isn’t this. He knows Desi asked an old friends of hers to fill in for her, someone who’d been retired for a while, but owed her a favour big enough, he’d been ready to come out of retirement just to watch Mac’s back, but then…

“I thought he was killed before coming to LA? Something about an old enemy with a grudge.”

Matty shakes her head. “Actually it happened here, in the city…” She hesitates before her next words send chills down Mac’s spine. “It happened in the apartment. Since he also managed to take the guy down, the address wasn’t compromised and we were able to repurpose the place.”

Mac doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure if he should say anything. There’s something in Matty’s voice that tells him she knew the guy as well, that she was fond of him as more than just an old colleague. 

Mac nods and gets up. “Thank you for telling me, Matty. It’s just…I haven’t been sleeping well and couldn’t really get the question out of my head.” She smiles at him and it takes every bit of courage to ask one last question. The one that might tell him if he really is crazy or if the apartment is actually haunted.

“Matty…what was his name?”

“Jack Dalton.”

…

It’s dark in the living room except for the light of the expensive candle Mac bought earlier that day in a store he wouldn’t have set foot in if someone had paid him just two weeks ago. It smells of pine, and would actually be quite pleasant if he hadn’t gotten it specifically to talk to the dead guy haunting his temporary apartment. 

This is his actual life now.

It's also Halloween. Mac is supposed to move back into his house the next day, and he has the strange feeling that he won't ever see his ghost again if he doesn't manage to contact him tonight. He's even begged off attending the Halloween party Matty is throwing, citing a headache. Mac loves Matty's parties, but he needs to see this through, needs to talk to Jack at least one more time until he can return to his life.

“Hey kid, watcha doin’,” Jack asks suddenly, his face very close to Mac’s where he’s leaning over the table. Mac yelps and nearly manages to knock over the candle. His ghost answers with a rough chuckle and raises an eyebrow.

“Is that pine?”

Mac glares at him. “Yes. I was…,” he trails off, suddenly embarrassed. He bought that candle just so he could talk to Jack again, the guy who, apparently, left behind a cosy retirement on his family ranch just to watch Mac’s back. Maybe he should just let Jack be in peace. The fact that Mac wants to talk to him doesn’t mean the same is true in reverse.

“You were what?” Jack asks, clearly still amused with Mac’s inability to be articulate.

“’S nothing,” Mac mumbles and looks at the candle. A hand comes to rest on his own and squeezes gently.

“Hey, whatever it is, hoss. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

Mac stares at their hands and tries to think of a polite way to ask Jack whether or not he’s the guy who he was supposed to start working with a few months ago, but draws a blank.

He’d be technically, kind of responsible for Jack’s death then, and Mac isn’t sure if he actually wants that knowledge or prefers to live on in blissful ignorance.

Still…

“Are you Jack Dalton?” He asks before his courage deserts him entirely because if he is, then Mac owes it to the guy to at least try to find out what happened and why Jack hasn’t moved on yet.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the way Jack looks at him right now, how that patient, questioning glance fills him with warmth and makes him feel like there’s nowhere else Jack would rather be than right there beside Mac.

“You know, I think I am,” Jack says, surprise evident in his voice. Mac chances a glance at his face. There’s a question in Jack’s eyes when he looks back at Mac, like he’s trying to remember something but the puzzle pieces don’t quite fit together yet.

Mac tries something else. “My name is Angus MacGyver, Mac to most people. A few months ago my partner, and friend, Desiree Nguyen left to hunt down a dangerous terrorist. I’m pretty sure you’re the guy she asked to fill in for her here in LA.”

Jack’s hand tightens over Mac’s and, for a moment, he looks like he was hit with something heavy. Then his eyes clear and he drops forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands rubbing over his face as if to chase away a lingering fatigue.

Mac ignores the way his hands feel strangely cold without Jack’s there to warm them, because Jack is a ghost, dammit, and even if he’s ready to concede that there might be something more to the supernatural than loony storeowners and way too much incense, Mac would like to still be able to believe in basic scientific principles.

Jack's hand hadn't been warm the last time they touched.

He ignores the fact that Jack should also not be able to touch him, but has done so on several occasions now.

Jack looks at him again. “Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse as if he hasn’t used it in a while. “I remember now, shit, Mareks got me right where I wasn’t expecting him.”

Mac swallows heavily. “Mareks…is that the guy who…the guy that killed you?”

Jack leans back into the couch and considers the question before shaking his head. “He attacked me here, yeah, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t manage to kill me.”

Mac’s heart freezes. “But…Matty told me he did. You killed him and he killed you.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Did she now? Matilda Webber is one of the best operatives I’ve ever worked with, Mac. Think back on what she said to you, her wording. Did she _tell_ you I died or was it just implied? That woman is a spy’s spy, a mystery wrapped in a puzzle.”

“An enigma,” Mac mumbles absently, thinking back on their encounter in Matty’s office. The longer he thinks about it the clearer he remembers. Matty had just inferred, hadn’t she? She’d never actually told him that Jack had died.

“What’s an enigma?” Jack asks, derailing Mac’s train of though. He blinks.

“It’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma, not a puzzle,” Mac says.

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh man, I can see we’re going to get along great, aren’t we?”

Mac ignores the teasing and turns his attention to Jack’s use of the future tense, because there’s still the problem of him being here, right now, in the living room.

“If you’re not dead, how exactly are you haunting this apartment?” Mac asks and watches the realisation spread across Jack’s face.

“I’m…I shouldn’t, should I?” He looks vaguely panicked now, like he hasn’t considered the situation from that angle yet. Mac grabs Jack’s hand and ignores the feeling of helplessness.

“Think Jack! What happened after you killed Mareks?”

Jack squeezes Mac’s hand and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss against the skin. He ignores the flutter in his stomach and wills Jack to say something, anything that would tell him what to do next. He concentrates on their hands, tries to hold on to that point of connection, of his skin against Jack’s, but then the candle goes out, suddenly, and the warmth of Jack’s skin seeps through his fingers like sand in an hourglass.

Jack is gone.

…

It’s exactly one hour until midnight, one hour until Halloween is officially over when Mac desperately rings Matty’s doorbell. His boss opens the door with a glare, clearly having fallen asleep after celebrating the holiday, judging by the remains of makeup on her face.

“What the hell, Mac.”

“Jack Dalton isn’t dead, is he?” Mac asks. Matty squints at him and he can see her desire for operational security vying with her need to find out what the hell he’s getting at on her face, before she sighs and surrenders the truth.

“No he’s not. He might as well be, though. He’s been in a coma for the past few months and the doctors aren't very optimistic.”

“I need to see him – I need to see him tonight,” Mac says. He can see the denial in her eyes, but doesn’t let her interrupt him.

“Jack Dalton has a scar on the knuckle of his right ring finger. His left index finger is crooked, probably from a break that didn’t heal properly. Don’t ask me how I know that, Matty, but please believe me when I tell you that I need to see him before the night is over.”

Matty believes him. She takes him to a private hospital in one of LA’s better neighbourhoods where the nurse on duty doesn’t seem very surprised at the nightly visitors. Mac suspects that she’s paid enough not to be surprised by anything, and is quietly grateful for Matilda Webber’s efficiency.

The nurse leads them into a room with a single occupant. Mac swallows when he recognizes Jack, paler than the last time Mac has seen him, his skin sallow in the artificial lightning.

“He’s slipping away, director. The doctors have done everything they can, but there isn’t much hope,” the nurse tells them, her voice calm and sympathetic.

Mac steps closer, close enough, he can slip his fingers around Jack’s. The feeling is different, of course it is. Jack’s skin is cold like this, cold and clammy where his hands had been warm before.

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s too late, that he came here just so he could say goodbye. Mac sits down in the chair by Jack’s bed, never letting go of the hand in his.

Matty places a warm hand on his arm. Her voice is barely more than a whisper when she speaks.

“Mac…I think you would have liked him. He was…he was…,” she trails off. Mac can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back in her voice. He leans forward until he can rest his forehead next to Jack’s unmoving form, trying not to think of the fact that he will likely never move again. His eyes will never again look at Mac with enough warmth, Mac feels he could drown in them if he let himself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, squeezing Jack’s hand. He raises his head again and sees the nurse frowning at something on one of the monitors attached to Jack. Mac looks at the clock over the door. Less than a minute left until midnight.

Matty gasps. Mac looks down at their hands, still entwined on the crisp white sheets.

Jack squeezes his hand.


End file.
